Policy and Protocol
by Acacia Carter
Summary: Neville is completely oblivious he's revealed anything, Harry doesn't know how this will affect their friendship or their working relationship and the only liquor he has tastes like peaches. HP/NL slash. My kingdom to my beta reader Alex.


**8 February, 2002  
>5:52pm<strong>

It was the sort of frigid rain that made Harry wonder if ice could be liquid without melting first. It ran down the back of his neck like sharp fingernails, soaking the collar of his shirt further and trickling down his back to mingle with his sweat. How he could be sweating in this cold, he didn't know, but he didn't stop running.

He could hear footfalls slightly behind him and to his right, and heavy panting as Neville tried to keep up. The sound made Harry realize that his own lungs were burning, his chest heaving as he gulped the cold air. There was a stitch in his side. A protruding root, camouflaged against the forest floor, nearly made him lose his footing. As it was, Neville nearly ran into him as he stumbled.

"We'll never outrun them," Neville gasped, his hand against a tree as he bent nearly double to try and catch his breath.

"No," Harry agreed, hand going to his waist for his wand for what had to have been the thousandth time. It still wasn't there, and it wasn't going to be there no matter how many times he checked. Lost in the river, probably.

"Apparate, then?" Neville asked. Harry shot Neville a look of disbelief.

"Neville, we've got three Cadets out there somewhere. I know for a fact two of them can't Apparate without Splinching and I don't know about the third. We can't just leave them in a forest surrounded by feral Dementors."

Neville almost hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Of course not."

The forest seemed to grow darker around them, the early evening light dimming to a clinging blackness. Harry swallowed hard against the sick feeling in his throat, his hand gripping his empty wand holster. "You're going to have to do the Patronus. It won't work nearly as well if I try with your wand."

Neville looked stricken, his dark blond hair plastered against his forehead, tawny in the wet and dark. "I - Harry, you'll do a better job than I ever could, I still can't do one -"

Harry shook his head violently, wiping rain from his eyes beneath his glasses. "Your wand's too stubborn and loyal. I couldn't even light a candle with it, remember? It's got to be you." Neville looked frozen to the spot. Harry's eyes darted around them, trying to detect movement in the flowing shadows.

"I can't -"

"We've got exactly no time for back and forth about this," Harry shouted as the sound of rain around them dampened. He met Neville's eyes for a brief moment, holding them in a steady gaze. He tried a smile, but it felt like it came out as more of a grimace. "Don't make me pull rank on you."

Neville snorted a single, slightly hysterical laugh. "Yes, sir."

Harry reached out to grip Neville's upper arm in a confident gesture. "You can do it. I know you can."

Neville licked his lips and gave a curt nod, shifting his grip on his wand as he held it in front of him.

Harry could see the Dementors darting through the trees around them now, circling restlessly. These were not Dementors conditioned by the Ministry to refrain from emptying their victims. These were feral, spawned outside of any human control, and they were obviously hungry. Harry tasted metal at the back of his tongue and his fatigued muscles began to shiver wildly in the cold.

"_Expecto Patronum_?" Neville said - too questioningly. There was a cottony wisp of silver light like a cobweb that dissipated immediately.

"Happier," Harry prompted, though if he was starting to hear screaming in his mind no doubt Neville was experiencing his own terrible echoes as well. It struck him that Neville had months of punishment at the hands of the Carrows that the Dementors could be flashing before him right now, not to mention memories from the front lines of both battles of Hogwarts. He grabbed at Neville's shoulder, trying to tell himself it was to offer encouragement, not because his knees has suddenly decided to buckle.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Better; the light wove in front of Neville like silver filigree for several seconds before it winked out, but the Dementors glided closer. Harry's vision was beginning to turn black at the edges and he trembled, with cold and with the terrible numbing he hadn't felt in years, and he squeezed Neville's shoulder.

"You can do it, Neville," he forced himself to say through chattering teeth. Neville turned his head to glance at him, and his hand came up to grip Harry's tightly for just a moment before he took a deep breath.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_" he bellowed, and a giant bright shape erupted from the end of his wand, charging with its head down at the nearest Dementor. Harry's head cleared immediately as the other Dementors stopped their slow rattling breaths in surprise and he thumped Neville on the back triumphantly. Neville grinned maniacally, not lowering his wand nor taking his eyes off the Patronus as it chased down another Dementor.

The remaining Dementors swirled in confusion and then fled. Its purpose fulfilled, the Patronus turned and walked a few steps back toward them, head held high, and Harry's breath froze in his chest for a moment that had nothing to do with the chill of the air.

"Huh," Neville said as he studied it. "I'd always wondered what form it'd take... didn't think it would be this." He turned to Harry slightly. "Same as yours, isn't it?" Harry nodded, mouth slightly open but with no words presenting themselves for duty. The stag before them tossed its head proudly, then shimmered and dissolved into a thousand wisps of silver, leaving them in semidarkness. Harry continued to stare at where it had been, the afterimage glowing before his eyes like an accusation.

**8 February, 2002  
>6:18pm<strong>

Their Cadets, it turned out, had had the sense to stay put on the bank of the river where the Portkey had originally dumped them. One of them had even had the presence of mind to Summon Harry's wand to him after it flew from his hand, his feet swept from under him by the unexpectedly swollen current. Harry stowed it gratefully back in its holster, cheeks burning from the embarrassment of having lost it in the first place. That was not going to impress his superiors.

Having indeed confirmed the presence of Dementors in this out-of-the-way valley, their orders were to Portkey back to Headquarters and report to the real Aurors, who would then deal with the problem. Normally, Harry chafed at being forbidden from actually taking care of anything himself - in fact, they'd probably be reprimanded for using a Patronus at all tonight, never mind that it had been completely necessary. Just now, however, he was too distracted to do anything but peer at Neville out of the corner of his eye as he fished out what would become their Portkey. Neville looked unconcerned, totally oblivious to how he'd just laid himself completely bare. Questions were bombarding every inch of his thoughts, and when he handed the length of knotted silk rope to Neville for him to enchant, brushing his fingers sent a chill up his spine that he couldn't quite explain.

Neville arched a questioning eyebrow at him, and for a moment Harry blinked at him before remembering protocol. "Oh. Um. Right. Portkey authorization seven-three-four-zed-zed, from coordinates..." His hand went to his pocket and he pulled out a sodden strip of parchment. "Blast." He could feel a flush flowing up his neck as one of the Cadets snickered. "Neville, you know where we're going. Just do it," he said plaintively. "And if anyone asks you, I rattled off the coordinates perfectly," he said sternly to the Cadets, who were all badly concealing their amusement.

"And addressed me properly in front of the Cadets," Neville added cheekily with a lopsided grin.

"And addressed Second Junior Auror Longbottom properly," Harry amended, ignoring the somersault his lungs seemed to do at that grin. "Goddamn mouthful. Get promoted already."

"If I get promoted, you'd be calling me 'sir,'" Neville quipped. The grin fell from his face as his eyebrows drew together in concentration and he tapped the rope with his wand. "_Portus_." The rope glowed blue and Neville held it out to Harry and the Cadets. "All right, you lot, thirty seconds until Portkey seven-three-four-zed-zed engages." He shot Harry a smirk. "Shall I rattle off the coordinates for you, sir?"

"I'd like to call you a name I shouldn't use in front of Cadets," Harry said conversationally as he grabbed one of the knots. "But it's not proper protocol. Remember, Cadets, proper protocol must always be observed. Rigidly. Even when your Second Junior is being an insubordinate arse."

Harry wished they had time for more banter, as it was working wonders untying the knot in his stomach that had been sitting there solidly since he'd first seen Neville's Patronus. Portkeys wait for nothing and no one, however, and before Neville had a chance to arrange his face into mock indignation the Portkey had activated and swept them all from their feet.

**8 February, 2002  
>7:04pm<strong>

"Yes, sir," Harry said for what felt like the fiftieth time. He very badly wanted to reach up and massage his temples, but schooled his hands to stillness, and instead folded them on the table in front of him.

"All told, you carried out your instructions well, Potter," Auror Millington said in the tones of a man who had been ready to go home for the evening hours ago. "And Longbottom, your Portkey accuracy has improved a great deal. I want you on Portkey detail for two more field exercises and then we'll re-evaluate." Millington studied them with a careful eye. "You two work well together. I've a mind to partner you up when you're both promoted to Auror. Do either of you have any objections?"

"No, sir," Neville said - a shade too quickly, Harry noticed as he shook his own head and echoed Neville's words. A split second later he wondered at the wisdom of that, but there was no way to voice an objection now, not with Neville right there.

"Good. Next week I'll have you two take another group of Cadets to finish up the investigation of an Inferi sighting. Good work today, you're dismissed." Millington rose from the table and had left the room before either Harry or Neville had a chance to finish standing up.

Neville glanced over. "Should we be considering that official?"

"Considering what?" Harry asked.

"The whole 'partners' thing. If he's thinking about it..."

"...Then promotion's not far off," Harry finished for him. "We've spent bloody long enough as Juniors, that's for certain. And I've only ever had one other Second Junior for the last several months." He bit his lip in thought for a moment. "Yeah. I'd say we call it unofficially official." The knot that had been loosening tightened around the pit of his stomach again at the dazzling grin on Neville's face, but now it was twisted with something very close to guilt.

He couldn't just go to Millington privately and request another partner. As one of his oldest friends - and closest, now that they'd spent the entirety of their Auror training together - he deserved to hear it from Harry.

"Drinks to celebrate? My place?" he found himself saying before his mind could step in to put a stop to it. Neville surprised him with a vehement shake of his head.

"Harry, I've seen your liquor cabinet. You've things that taste like peaches in there."

"So?" Harry crossed his arms, amusement bubbling up under the guilt and slight panic that had spawned in the last few seconds.

"So I have exactly one stereotypical pureblood vice, and that's fine liquor. You don't own liquor. You own alcohol." He grinned again. "If we want to get drunk, we go to your place. If we want to celebrate, we go to mine. I'll leave it up to you."

**8 February, 2002  
>8:23pm<strong>

Harry coughed, his eyes tearing. "Is it supposed to taste like burning?"

"Philistine." Neville pushed a tumbler of water across the table and Harry gulped it gratefully, blinking hard. "And yes, if you treat it like cheap vodka, of course it's going to punish you."

"Do you mean literally, or figuratively?" Harry asked as he wiped his eyes with a knuckle under his glasses. "Because if it's the former, I don't think I'm keen on my intoxicants being that judgemental."

Neville snorted. "Bit of both, really. You'll enjoy it more if you take your time with it, and when you're enjoying it, it tastes better." He shrugged. "Don't ask me how it works. Try it again - slowly, this time."

Harry stared dubiously at the dark amber liquor in the oddly-shaped glass in front of him before raising it to his lips again, taking the barest of sips and holding it on his tongue for a moment before tentatively swallowing. Neville was right; it did taste better that way.

"It still tastes like burning," he stated defiantly. "But... in a nice way. Like it's something I actually might drink on purpose."

"There's hope for you yet." Neville raised his glass. "Right, then: to our looming promotions, and inevitable partnership."

Harry's fingers tightened around the glass as it felt like a cold hand had suddenly curled into a fist in his chest. "About that," he said, and nearly winced at how unfriendly the words sounded. Neville's face had fallen into confusion as he lowered his glass. "I... I'm worried that being your partner might be... inappropriate."

A tiny spark of realization lit behind Neville's eyes for a moment, which he tried to cover by taking a long, slow sip of his drink. Or perhaps he was buying time to craft a response. Either attempt was a failure, because when Neville finally licked his lips and spoke, it was to unconvincingly say, "I don't take your meaning."

Harry set his glass down on the table. "Your Patronus... you..." His mind refused to produce phrases that made anything resembling sense. "Neville, since when have you been in love with me?" His own eyes widened as the words tumbled from his mouth.

Neville stared, mortification slowly stealing over his face. "You don't really do subtle, do you?" he asked after an interminable moment of silence.

"Not really, no." Harry swallowed and didn't take his eyes away from Neville's. He'd made his bed; he may as well sleep in it now.

Neville sighed heavily, breaking the eye contact and burying his face in his hands in a gesture Harry desperately wanted to mirror. "Is honesty the best policy, or should I lie to make you feel better?"

Harry's chest felt tight. He took a shaky breath. "The truth."

"Well, see, the truth is highly subjective -"

"You're avoiding the question."

"Fifteen."

Harry blinked. "Fifteen?"

"Since I was fifteen."

Harry could apparently do sums even when his mind was in complete chaos, because the next thing that fell from his mouth was: "Seven years?"

"Give or take." Neville still hadn't lifted his face from his hands; his voice was muffled.

There was a high buzzing in his head that had seemed to replace rational thought. "So... all this time that I thought we were friends..."

"We were friends," Neville said forcefully, lowering his hands. "Still are. I buried it and thought it was dead because it's not as though anything could ever come of it. I never even told anyone, I don't know how you..."

"Your Patronus," Harry said almost absently. "Patronuses take the form of the thing that symbolizes you at your happiest, your safest... I was ridiculously young when I cast my first one, so it ended up being - my father was an Animagus, he turned into a stag, only I didn't know it at the time -" He was not making any sense, even to himself. "And my mother's was a doe, the same as Snape's, and he - he'd been in love with her for most of his life, and Tonks loved Lupin so much her Patronus changed into his werewolf form..."

"And mine's the same as yours," Neville said slowly. "And so you guessed." He raised his glass feebly. "Damn good guess."

Harry nodded numbly as Neville took another sip. His eyes looked very far away. Harry dropped his own eyes to stare at his hand still curled around his glass. It was trembling slightly, and he didn't know why.

"It's not going to bite, you know."

Harry jumped. The liquor sloshed against the sides of the glass. He wrenched his eyes up guiltily to see Neville weakly grinning at him.

"Go ahead. Finish up. Or I will if you aren't going to, I can get you something else."

Harry stared at him. "You're not...?" He trailed off, because he wasn't sure what emotion he was surprised Neville wasn't showing.

Neville shrugged. "Angry? Heartbroken?" He shook his head and reached out to tap the side of Harry's glass. Harry obediently raised it to his lips. "Everything's still exactly the same as it was, except you know now." He shrugged again, and Harry thought he could see just the slightest tightening around Neville's eyes that belied his nonchalant words. "If the thought of continuing to work with me makes you uncomfortable, well..."

"That's not it," Harry said quickly. He reached across the table and grasped Neville's forearm firmly. "Neville, you're a great friend. The best. This doesn't change anything." The lie felt stiff on his tongue. "All right, so it changes some things. On my end. But it doesn't change..." he faltered. His mind was making no sense again. He decided to start over. "I'm your commanding officer, at least until we're both promoted, and who knows how long that will be."

Neville raised an eyebrow. "You're my superior by four days and half a rank."

"Which still makes me your C.O. when we're assigned together. And even when we're both the same rank, this could... muddle things."

Neville set his glass down on the table. "Before today, have I ever given you any reason to be suspicious or dissatisfied with our working relationship? Or our friendship, for that matter?"

"No," Harry replied honestly.

"That's because, like I said, I knew nothing could ever come of mooning over you. You knowing about it doesn't make things any different. I'm not going to start throwing myself at you, because it would embarrass both of us and accomplish nothing." He drained the last of his liquor. "I've ignored it for going on seven years. I can deal with it. Can you?"

Harry found it very difficult to meet Neville's hazel eyes. "Maybe. Probably." He threw his hands up. "I don't know. It's... distracting."

"Distracting," Neville echoed in an amused voice. "Try to ignore a bloke you fancy when he's sopping wet and then talk to me about distracting." He winced. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that." A brilliant shade of red touched his cheeks. "Really shouldn't have said that," he added.

"See, that's what I'm talking about," Harry said, grasping at the example. "I don't know that it's appropriate for two people to be partners if they're having thoughts like that for each other."

"All right." Neville held up his thumb. "One: I've been having thoughts like that for years and it's never made one smidgeon of difference, because work is work. If I'm on the job, I do the damn job." Neville held out his index finger to join his thumb. "Two: maybe you haven't checked the roster, but half of the Auror partnerships are married couples. My parents were partners. Millington's not an idiot: he knows that partners have to get along, and he's been doing the husband-wife team thing for thirty years at least." He held out one more finger to join the other two. "Three: did you just say 'each other?'"

Harry ran over what he'd said in his head and felt a flush tease at the tips of his ears. "It slipped. I meant -" He stopped when Neville held up a hand.

"Don't say it. I think I know what you meant." Neville toyed with the empty glass in his hand while Harry finished the last of his liquor. Once again, it looked as though his eyes were studying something very far away.

Harry stood. "I... should probably be getting home."

Neville didn't respond until Harry was almost at the door. "Harry. Wait." He looked tired as he rose from the chair and walked over to the door, hands in his pockets. "Do you... am I right? In saying that nothing will ever come of it?"

Harry's mouth suddenly felt very dry. "Is honesty the best policy, or should I lie to make you feel better?"

Neville's eyes were a little unnerving in their intensity. "Lie to me."

Harry blinked, taken aback. He swallowed. "I don't know."

Neville's lips compressed into a thin line and he nodded. "Fair enough. See you Monday."

Harry paused outside on Neville's doorstep for a moment to collect his wits before Disapparating. He wanted to blame the strong drink, but knew that was unfair. It wasn't the liquor that had him out of sorts. It was the fact that, until the moment Neville requested a lie, Harry had been ready to answer, "Maybe not."

**13 February, 2002  
>2:16pm<strong>

"Junior Auror Potter and Second Junior Auror Longbottom," the dispatch witch read from her clipboard. "Here are your coordinates. Your Cadets are travelling by Portkey to the other side of this valley. Their task is to find you based on your wand signatures. Your task is to evade them, second level wards only. The exercise will be terminated at five o'clock this evening, at which point you will rendezvous and Portkey back. Here is your Portkey." She handed them the standard knotted silk cord. "Any questions?"

"No, ma'am," Harry said, taking the string and suppressing a smile. He loved tracker training. He nearly always lost his Cadets anyway, but in tracker training he could do it on purpose. Next to him, Neville studied the coordinates, eyebrows knitted together. Harry knew he was trying to visualize where they were going.

"Somewhere in Ireland," Neville finally said, without being asked. He drew his wand and looked to Harry, who sighed.

"Portkey authorization seven-four-one-alpha-foxtrot," he said, and grabbed the sheet from Neville's hand to read off the coordinates.

"Thank you, and I'll have that," Neville said, holding out his hand for the knotted cord. Harry handed it over, once again ignoring the tiny thrill that shot straight through to his toes at the brush of the other man's fingers on his own.

A handful of moments later, Harry was squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight. "Tidy," he remarked as he pocketed the silk cord.

"Thanks," Neville said, shading his eyes with his hand. "So. Tracker training. I've got a brilliant evasion today."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. They're tracing our wands, right?" Neville held his up, twiddling it between his fingers. "So we hide the wands, and then scarper."

Harry barked a laugh. "Oh, that's evil. I like it." He scanned their surroundings, then pointed at a copse of trees. "In there. We'll lash the wands to a tree branch, and then hide up in another tree where we can keep an eye on them."

Neville frowned. "We're not splitting up?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't like being alone and wandless. Besides, three hours in a tree with no one to talk to is boring. Let's stick together this time."

It did not take long for them to find a tree and tie their wands securely to a low branch. It took considerably longer to find a tree suitable for climbing that had appropriate cover for hiding, but Neville spotted one in which, if they pressed themselves against the broad limbs, they would be virtually invisible from the ground in their dark robes. They'd shimmied up the tree and settled near the trunk on two of the thicker limbs, panting from the exertion, when Neville smacked his forehead.

"Hard to do wards without wands," he said.

Harry shrugged. "We probably won't need them, up here." He let his legs dangle on either side of the branch, his back against the trunk.

"They'll hear us talking," Neville pointed out.

"True." Harry closed his eyes for a moment in concentration. "_Muffliato_." He could feel the walls of quiet extend around them like a bubble. Wandless, he couldn't get much of a range, but he managed to encompass himself and Neville on his limb slightly above Harry.

"Show off," Neville accused, shifting on his branch. "Is Muffliato even a level two ward?"

"It's not officially on the wards list," Harry answered easily. "I consider it my sacred duty to teach our Cadets that their opponents do not always play by the rules." He settled back against the tree trunk. "Remind me to refresh that in about a half hour."

"Yessir," Neville said, with a lazy salute.

They lapsed into companionable silence, and Harry allowed himself to relax. Neville had been right. Things weren't really any different. And yet...

"I didn't get paired with you for yesterday's field exercise," he said idly. "Was wondering if you had anything to do with that."

Neville made a negative sound. "I was going to ask you the same thing. I was the only officer yesterday, herding four Cadets around a gloomy moor in Scotland." He made a face. "I hate being in charge."

"Yeah, well, I had Hendricks as a Second Junior yesterday, and he hasn't even started his Portkey training yet, so I had to do it," Harry groused.

"I hate Portkeys too," Neville said vehemently. "So glad this is my last day on Portkey detail. I can't wait to foist it off on some enterprising Cadet."

"If you hate Portkeys, why are you getting your cert?" Harry asked.

Neville stretched, putting his hands behind his head to cushion it against the tree trunk. "You get paid more if you've got the Portkey certification. I like the idea of having a couple extra Galleons a week."

"There is that," Harry agreed. He closed his eyes and listened to the breeze rustle through the naked branches of the tree. The air was surprisingly mild for this time of year. A bird nearby had got over the shock of their intrusion and had begun its clear piping song once again.

Before he had a chance to decide if it was a good idea or not, the words had already left his mouth: "So. Fifteen, eh?"

Neville looked down with a slightly disapproving frown. "Now who's being inappropriate?"

Harry gestured around them. "We're up a tree on a sunny winter day playing hide-and-go-seek. This is about as close as you can get to being off duty." He shrugged. "Besides. I'm curious."

"And egotistical."

"That too." Harry shot Neville a guilty smile. "So... why then? As I recall, I was not a stunning example of human compassion and goodness that year."

Neville snorted. "Like hell you weren't. Organizing a crusade against Umbridge? Teaching everyone to defend themselves because how else were we going to learn? I'd have been a hopeless lump if it hadn't been for you." He shook his head, smiling, but then the smile began to fade and he started picking bark off the tree. "It wasn't until the end of the year that I grasped it, though. I thought I just admired you, but after the Ministry... I opened the door to the dormitory and you were there, just sitting and staring into nothing, and - well, it was clear you were hurting something terrible. And I realized that I hurt just knowing you were hurting, and that I'd do just about anything to get you to smile." He chucked the piece of bark to the ground. "I almost did," he said suddenly. "Right then and there, I almost walked over and held you."

"Why didn't you?" Harry asked, transfixed. Neville jerked, as though he had forgotten Harry was there.

"Are you kidding? I was scared out of my mind. They don't do a good job of teaching about sexuality at Hogwarts, if you haven't noticed, and being more interested in boys than girls was bloody terrifying." Another piece of bark fell to the ground. Neville hadn't made eye contact with him for several minutes. "I didn't feel right about it until I was seventeen. Wasn't until then that I got my first kiss off a bloke and discovered that I was just a different kind of normal." A lopsided grin replaced his pensive look and he shot a brief glance down at Harry. "Gran wasn't too pleased, what with me being the last Longbottom and all. I think she's still shopping around for a wife that won't mind a queer husband."

"And what did you do when Rita Skeeter ran that wonderful article about me? You know the one," Harry said, self-deprecatingly.

"Drank a lot of single-malt whiskey," Neville responded drily. "And spent the entire night talking myself out of approaching you, because I knew you would hate that, coming from one of the only friends you had still speaking to you."

"You weren't wrong," Harry said reflectively. That had been a very bad three weeks for both him and Charlie, until public attention had turned elsewhere for entertainment. He still wasn't sure Ron had actually forgiven him for standing up his sister for his older brother, never mind that the photographs blew things totally out of proportion and all they'd really done was... but that was neither here nor there.

The conversation dwindled. Harry could think of a few dozen other things he could say, but quailed at the thought of actually giving them voice, and for once his mouth didn't run along ahead of him. Neville seemed off in his own private thoughts, anyway, and didn't look as though being roused from them was something he would invite.

**13 February, 2002  
>5:50pm<strong>

The debriefing seemed to take longer than the field exercise itself. They were simultaneously chastised and commended for not leading a merry chase, Neville had his Portkey certification signed off, and they were released for the evening.

Harry was in the queue for the Apparition point, idly considering the possibilities his two favourite take-aways offered, when he felt a tug on his shoulder. He turned, slightly annoyed - he was up next, and he didn't want to be shouted at for holding up the queue - and found himself quite literally face-to-face with Neville.

And in one smooth motion, Neville grasped Harry's collar, tipped his chin up, and kissed him full on the mouth.

Before Harry's mind could catch up with events enough to be shocked, Neville had let go and pulled away, a look of horror seeping across his face like an inkblot. He grimaced and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, muttered a breathless "I'm sorry," and cut ahead of Harry in the queue to Disapparate with a crack.

A catcall sounded from somewhere back in the queue, and was met by nervous laughter. Harry didn't hear any of it. His hand went up to his mouth, tentatively rubbing the scratches Neville's evening stubble had left in the corners of his lips. He wondered if Neville had matching scratches from his own whiskers, as he hadn't bothered to shave that morning. He absently noted how quickly his heart was beating now. He shook his head to clear it and stepped forward to Disapparate.

**13 February, 2002  
>5:55pm<strong>

Neville was not answering the door. Harry waited five more minutes before turning on his heel to Apparate home.

**13 February, 2002  
>6:01pm<strong>

Neville was right, Harry mused as he stood with the doors to his liquor cabinet wide open. He didn't own anything even resembling real liquor, and a very disproportionate amount of what he did own tasted like peaches.

**14 February, 2002  
>2:17am<strong>

He was going to have a massive, throbbing, peach-tinged hangover.

**14 February, 2002  
>9:02am<strong>

"But he never reports in ill," Harry protested to the dispatch witch. She shrugged.

"I'm not sure what to tell you, Potter. He sent an owl this morning saying he was feeling poorly and wouldn't be making it in." She patted him on the shoulder. "The good news is I don't have you for any field exercises today. The bad news is you're slotted for paperwork."

"I think I'm not feeling well either," Harry said, rubbing his temples. He hadn't been wrong about the hangover. "Can you let Millington know I'm taking a personal day?"

"Of course. Feel better, Potter." The dispatch witch gave him a sympathetic smile and moved on down the line of Junior Aurors waiting for their day's assignments. Harry stopped at the break room for a cup of bad coffee, praising its glories until another Auror looked at him askance, then made his way to the Apparition point.

**14 February, 2002  
>9:31am<strong>

The hair on one side of Neville's head was standing straight up. His eyes widened slightly as he realized who was at his door, and he rather looked like he wanted to shut it in Harry's face for a moment. Instead, he stood to the side and gestured Harry in.

"You're looking a bit peaky," Harry said, shoving both hands deep into the pockets of his cloak. "Are you all right?"

Neville held up his forearm. A jagged, livid red line crossed the back of it from his wrist to disappear in the sleeve of his dressing gown. "Splinched myself a bit coming home yesterday. Had some Dittany, though." He was determinedly looking everywhere in the hallway but at Harry.

"Oh." Harry scratched at the back of his head. "Well. You don't tend to stay home sick, so I was just stopping by to -"

"You were right," Neville blurted, finally looking directly at Harry with anguish in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I behaved... very badly. I thought I was done with it, thought I could ignore it, but then - you woke everything up again, and I was reminded of everything I used to feel for you, and realized that I still feel it, and it's wildly improper and -"

"Neville," Harry interjected. "Shut up."

And then his hand was tangling itself in the dishevelled dark blond locks, his other hand pressed, trembling, against the small of Neville's back. He tasted very faintly of last night's whiskey and more strongly of this morning's maple syrup, underscoring the taste that Harry had been remembering for hours that was simply Neville. And under the soap and shampoo, he smelled like Neville, an ineffable scent that reminded him powerfully of overnight field exercises spent in tents too small for two, of a shoulder holding him up from a turned ankle, of a quiet evening with beer in the corner booth of a pub after their first assignment together.

There was the tiniest moan that could have been either of them and now Harry's back was against the door, his body pinned there by the press of Neville's, and Harry's mind made the executive decision to stop all this _thinking_ and just feel for a while.

**14 February 2002  
>9:45am<strong>

"I'm a little bit terrified," Harry admitted, wrapping his hands around the mug of coffee at the kitchen table. "More than a little bit. I don't know what I'm doing. I've never been - Ginny doesn't count. I've never actually loved someone before and I don't know how it works and the idea that it's happening and being so unprepared for it is absolutely terrifying." He hadn't noticed how tense his neck was until Neville began to rub it.

"Well," Neville began, and at that moment he hit a spot right _there_ and gooseflesh erupted all down Harry's spine. He shivered, and he could feel the smile that had spread across Neville's face right through his fingers. "The hard part's over with. And as soon as I can convince myself that you're really here..."

"I am here," Harry mumbled, the edges of his world going fuzzy at Neville's touch. "I think I have been for a while. It just... took your Patronus to wake me up. And now that I'm awake, everything is real and you're... responding and it's going somewhere that I - I don't even..." He felt his ears begin to burn. "I mean, I get the mechanics of it, but I don't - I've never actually -"

"That," Neville said wryly, "Is the least of our worries." His thumb pressed that spot again and Harry's eyelids drooped, and he wasn't certain that he was still a solid person and not a puddle on the kitchen floor. "I have the utmost confidence in our ability to work through that troublesome problem."

"So long as one of us knows what we're doing." Harry let his eyes drift all the way closed.

Neville laughed. "Harry, I have no clue what I'm doing. Not a one." He paused. "You seem to like this, though."

Harry did not have the wherewithal to nod. He nearly whimpered with Neville took his hands away, and he turned in his chair to make "keep doing that" eyes at him, but Neville pulled him up gently and cradled the back of his head in his hand and kissed him _and_ started kneading the back of his neck. Harry gave up on being coherent ever again.

"Blimey," Neville said softly as he broke away from the kiss. "I've wanted this for so long and now I don't even know where to start." He chuckled softly. "There's about three million things on the list."

"If they're all as brilliant as this, I'm yours," Harry said without thinking.

Neville froze for a moment. "Say that again."

Harry blinked. "I'm yours?" He heard the words this time and they kindled a tiny thrill low in his belly.

Neville let his breath out in a slow whoosh past Harry's ear. "You've no idea how good that sounds." He pulled back slightly to look down at Harry. "And you mean it?"

"Yeah." Harry laid his head against Neville's shoulder. "I think I do." He could feel the muscles in Neville's neck stretch as Neville assumed that intoxicating lopsided grin.

"I hope you didn't have anything planned for the rest of the day. It's going to take some time to figure out what your favourite things are."

**15 February, 2002  
>8:47am<strong>

Two folded pieces of parchment were on Auror Millington's desk as he settled down with his morning coffee.

_Auror Millington -  
>I apologize. I did not get much sleep last night and another day of rest before the weekend is probably necessary.<br>2nd Junior Auror Longbottom_

_Auror Millington,  
>Still not feeling as though work is the best thing for me today. I will make an effort to be presentable by Monday.<br>Junior Auror Potter_

With a knowing smirk, Millington chose to ignore that both notes had used identical ink, and were in fact halves of the same sheet of parchment.

_- finite -_


End file.
